Love and Life Part One Feelings of Hardship
by Lolania
Summary: This is a story of an unexpected pair and how they grew to love one another. In weakness words were said and bruises were bared, and then passion blossomed. Those that are expected to be the strongest, often cry in their solitude.
1. Prologue Foreign Glamour

Prologue – Foreign Glamour

Greens, browns and blues mixed into a blur of the environment that zipped pass as I watched through the glare-streaked glass. My gray depths fell half-lidded and I breathed in deeply through my nose; I was absolutely bored out of my mind, just like every time. On this long, grueling trip to Hogwarts, my secret haven, I sat alone in a private velvet room, my elbow on the window seal and my cheek on my knuckles.

My cohorts, Crabb and Goyle, were following the poor snack woman around the train, pilfering various things off her cart and stuffing them into the black holes known as their mouths. I was grateful for their absence, only in my ego trip seeking moods did I need them around to make me feel better about my own intelligence, appearance, and everything else that made me human.

But now I needed my solitude, for my thoughts whirled in my mind like a violent typhoon, ripping away logic and leaving only pure, unshielded truth. I was in love. But, that fact was not my reigning concern, it was whom I was in love with. That, and the gender of this person went against all of my shaky morals. Boys weren't supposed to have compassion for other boys, it was wrong in the eyes of everyone that I had any respect for.

Why did I yearn for him then? Why in our battles and duels when his skin touched mine did that point of contact burst into white-hot flames? Shivers would rake my body when I felt the effects of his spells or his gaze on me; I would turn away, of course, hiding my face, which would be banded red with a vibrant, impatient stroke of a painter's crimson brush. The need I suffered for him surpassed anything I had ever endured; even the normal sexual frustration of a teenager didn't amount to this pain.

I was jerked back into reality when a knock on the door of my cabin sounded and I looked towards it, hazy mind coming back into focus. "Come in." I said in a strained voice, before clearing my throat and coughing into the back of my hand as the entrance slid open. There in the doorway stood not Crabb, Goyle, or any other person I recognized, but a perfect stranger.

This young man was very tall and slim with a sharp angled face, a long pointed nose and piercing orbs the color of cobalt, like the blue of the sky before blackness takes over and stars begin to appear. He had short, wild black hair; his bangs pushed to the side to partially cover his right eye. No robes of Hogwarts clothed this male; his choice of covering was a loose black, button down shirt, wide open to show the thin white tank top underneath, his pants were a mixture of dark denim with leather patches here and there, and a spike studded strap hung on the belt loop of one hip to cross his front and circle around his upper thigh. Quite an interesting style; all accented by the pentacle hanging limply around his neck on a cord of breaded black leather.

"Who are you?" I asked him softly, stunned at his unusual attire and all around dark glow. He gave a muted chuckle, more like an uplift of his shoulders and a quick turn of the lips, before leaning on the door jam. "And what on earth are you dressed as?"

"An American, my friend, I am dressed as an American for that is what I am." His voice was a cold and slick as the ice that would cover a lake in the nights of winter, rolling off his tongue so fluidly and in such a charismatic fashion that I shuddered visibly. "My name is Terren Higle and before you ask, I have come to pay you a visit because the loneliness in this room permeates these walls into mine."

I let go of the breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding and my lips twitched, a threat of a simper. This one was witty, I was amused, and how he'd predicted I would ask why he was here was obvious; it was only habit to demand why after knowing who. "Well then, Higle," He seemed a bit taken back when I used his last name instead of his first, but grinned, taking it all in stride. "Why do you feel drawn to loneliness? I am in no need of comfort."

"No comfort intended. Your gloom is just interrupting my reading." He remarked without missing a beat and I did give my famous smirk. "But, if you feel obligated to pour your thoughts to me, I won't push you away or anything."

"Curiosity killed the cat."

"Well, thankfully I'm not a cat nor do I keep one, and my midnight crow is tucked safely away in the storage compartment of my cabin." As I raised one pale eyebrow of moonlight he gave a sly grin, moving inside of my room and shutting the door behind him. "I prefer a crow over an owl, less pecking and crows, to me, are far more beautiful." He let the door support his weight as he tilted back on his heels, crossing his ankles and folding his arms behind his head. How very fetching he looked in such a position of unaltered arrogance.

"You do seem like a person who would favor a bird of vengeance and pain over one of wisdom." I said softly, nodding to the seat across from mine, which he sat upon at my invitation. "I have never seen you around the school before, you can't possibly be a first year student, can you?"

Expression dropping from smugness to disgust mixed with surprise, Terren shook his head and snorted ever so slightly. "Oh, heavens no. I'm a seventh year actually, but I spent my first six years in the United States at Ebony University, the Hogwarts sister school. I transferred here for various reasons that I'd rather not talk about."

I gave a curt nod in understanding; I wasn't going to reveal anything personal, so why should I pressure him to do so? There was a certain mystery about this young man that caused me to give him a quick look over again and I noticed some more things about him now that I was closer. He had facial hair, albeit minor, a bit of a scruffy mustache and beard, prickles of black on pale skin. His right ear was pierced, a small black hoop hung from his lobe, twinkling when he moved his head to enunciate his words. He wore four black plastic bracelets on his wrist just above a band of silver on his middle finger, which he absently spun on his skin like subconscious stress relief.

Suddenly I realized that his lips were moving and I hadn't heard a thing he'd said, so I blinked my eyes and settled back to try to catch the end of what he was talking about. "… never been to England without a giddy horde of other Americans with me." I heard him say and he hadn't seemed to recognize the fact that I had zoned out and for that I was splendidly relieved. "My artwork has suffered for coming here, I left all of my supplies back in California."

"Artwork?" I echoed and he raised an eyebrow before his visage faded into a shadow of betrayal. It was then I grasped that he'd been talking about art and I hadn't heard any of it. Damn my short attention span.

"You haven't been listening, have you?" His head titled to the side as I adverted my eyes, looking every direction but into his. "Can't blame you, ranting is a specialty of mine and all of my words just melt into one long string of 'blah blah blah.' But, I must say I wasn't expecting you to start ignoring me this early in getting acquainted."

"I'd apologize but my pride prohibits it." I said in an almost bashful manner and was comforted as his face split into a grin. "What?" I inquired with a certain amount of curiosity, brewed with fascination in that brilliant show of ivory.

"So, you're a narcissist!" He accused then gave a snicker as a barely noticeable streak of rosy pink flashed across my cheeks before I turned away. My smile defied my denial of his name-calling and I spied him through a sideline glance while he continued to laugh. "Don't worry, pride won't change my opinion of you, oh nameless one."

"Malfoy," I nearly hissed, although in an amused fashion. "My name is Draco Malfoy." The other male's happy expression fell and his eyes iced over, as if my family name struck a cord of scorn within him. "Do you have something against the Malfoys?" There was a challenge in my tone; it was true that only outwardly was I a typical Malfoy, but I still took a certain amount of offence when someone gave me the title of "Dark Malfoy" without truly getting to know me. Of course, the rarest occasion in life was when someone got though my mental and physical barriers and found my hated inner sensitivity that was hidden in the cobwebs of my mind.

"No…" Came his soft response and he turned his face from mine, staring out the window at the passing scenery. "Nothing at all."

I opened my mouth to question his sudden change of mood but the cabin door banged open and Crabb and Goyle came bumbling in. They stopped once they spotted Terren and looked towards me in their child-like perplexity. I couldn't help but crinkle my nose at their cream and chocolate covered faces; briefly I wondered if a single piece that they had consumed wasn't stolen.

"Who are you?" asked Crabb in an awed voice and the American turned his head towards him. "Is he bothering you, Draco?" he inquired of me and I gave an annoyed snort, my eyebrows pointing down and lips pulling in a thin line.

"I can take care of myself." I spat, my voice practically dripping with the cold venom of disdain. They backed away slightly as I reclined again, crossing my legs and arms and glaring at them. "Just leave." I commanded and they tried to flee at the same time, getting momentarily stuck in the doorway before disappearing down the hall. Silently I sighed as their blundering footsteps grew fainter and raised an eyebrow at the other's expression; something about those sharp eyes and that tiny grin entranced me.

"Friends of yours?" My left eye twitched in an instantaneous response before I could think to stop it and his smile broadened. "Slaves, then?" I shook my head and absently licked my lips, egging him on. "Followers desperate for attention?"

I bit off a laugh and my shoulders shook as I nodded; my, this man was perceptive. "Yes, pretty much." I admitted, voice broken with suppressed giggling, and I gave him a rare flicker of a smile.

"You need to smile more often." The seriousness of his voice was almost frightening and those somber, crystal blue eyes made my body tremble. I drew in a surprised breath as his stood, taking a step to erase the distance between us, and leaned over me, his hands on the back support of the booth I sat upon. "You have a beautiful smile." He was so close and the space that separated us was quickly depleting, I could barely think as I felt his hot breath on my lips.

"What…" I started in protest but the soft, velvety fire of his mouth descended on mine and all my thoughts shattered into the blackness of oblivion. His lips burned sweetly against mine and when the tip of his tongue swept across my bottom lip, goose bumps rose rampantly on my skin. Without a glimmer of rationality, I opened my mouth and granted him passage, letting my eyes slide finally closed.

I felt nothing but him at that moment, his tongue rolling against mine, his thumbs rubbing against my collar whilst he gripped my shoulders, and the glorious scent, which I couldn't place but knew so well, that oozed from him. Everything else was insignificant in comparison, dwarfed and meaningless in the heat and passion of our moment. And as he lightly licked the roof of my mouth, sending tingling sparks down my spine, I came to grasp the reality of this situation. This was my first kiss and it was positively mind blowing.

But, just as I grew to know it, the contact vanished as he pulled away. My skin grew chilly with the lack of his heated touch and I shivered in the aftermath, my mouth prickled like the presence of pins and needles. I was lightheaded and breathless, my vision was hazy and my ears rang with a song so beautiful it reminded me of a siren's tune. Needless to say, I had enjoyed the kiss and it took a moment or two for me to recover, but the first thing I saw when I did was his grinning face. I didn't know whether or not to be offended or amused at his stab of superiority, but of course I'd only let him feel dominate for a little while. There's only so much of being recessive that I could take, for that had been my position for almost my entire life, the shadow of an infamous family.

"Ever kissed a boy before?" came his gentle words, so near to my ear that the hair on the back of my neck shot up in excitement. It took an instant before I could shake my head; words lost to me and even if I tried to speak my voice would be strained and uneven. I watch his grin broaden into a brilliant ivory cresent and blinked gray eyes in puzzlement. "Ever kissed anyone before?" I clicked my tongue at him and he gave a giggle, running his hand up my neck to cup my chin. "You're a fast learner, I didn't even notice."

Resisting the playful urge to bite his thumb as it ran across my lips tauntingly, I let my granite gray depths fall half-lidded and gazed at him silently. He truly was a beautiful creature, so unlike me, but sharing the same dark, mysterious aura that I came to be known with. He came from a different land, a world so alien to me, and so he was fascinating.

I wished I could have stayed there forever, wrapped in his warmth, but eventually the train came to its destination and we were forced to leave the room. He left me momentarily to gather his things and so I stepped off the vessel alone, looking around for fellow Slytherins, at the puny first years, and other random things when my eyes landed on a certain Gryffindor trio. They hadn't noticed me yet, so I slinked into the shadows and pretended to be nonchalant. I stared at them, one of them more then the other two, and found myself gnawing my bottom lip.

Harry Potter stood there talking excitedly, those untamed auburn bangs moving over his lightning shaped scar as he nearly bounced about. He was happy to be back at Hogwarts, as was I, this was our refuge from our equally abusive homes. I envied him for being able to hide those wounds of his so well, those inflicted by his aunt, uncle and cousin.

Yes, I knew about him, about his home at Pivet Drive, I had stolen various files from the Headmaster's office once. I really only wanted mine, but his was inviting, calling for me to look into his private life. So many jokes and insults could have been made from such secret information, but when I learned of his life, I realized how much like me he was. Such a thought scared me into a fancy for him; I had lay awake many nights thinking of him and each time my resolution was the same. He would never think of me in such a fashion; he despised my existence.

My two inept cronies waddled up with their baggage and mine, like dogs fetching a master's slippers. I imagined each time they wished I would reward them somehow, whether with a pat on the head or permission to emotionally destroy someone. My only regard of their presence was a sneer then I looked back at the three Gryffindors and drew in a sharp breath when they started my direction. Usually I was impelled to spout an insult at them, mostly at Weasely's dirty, ragged clothing or Granger's frizzy mop of hair, but I just looked away and acted as if I didn't see them.

"Does he think he's to good to berate us now?" I heard the redhead say not so quietly to his friends but still I didn't move. I suppose it broke his routine for me not to throw a few vulgarities at him and that sufficed perfectly. As long as he felt something I wouldn't damn myself for cowardliness later.

"Just ignore him, Ron." Came the soft, counseled words from their leader and I felt a twinge inside of me. "He isn't there."

And then I did look their direction, pure, unshielded shock in my gray eyes, threaded with anger by the cold needles of pain. He was looking at me dispassionately, but something in my expression made his footsteps falter but I turned away before he could examine it further. His words echoed back and forth in my mind, each time getting louder until I felt my ears ring painfully and my depths began to water.

Or was I on the verge of crying? I pressed the heels of my palms firmly into my eye sockets to keep the moisture there. _Boys don't cry_, I told myself firmly, drawing in a shaky breath, _boys don't cry_. Jumping noticeably in surprise as a hand fell on my shoulder, I looked up at Terren's concerned expression and breathed in deep, waving it off. He asked me something, I didn't quite hear nor did I answer, I just grabbed my trunk and gazed at the towering black building across the dark blue waters.

After the first years were sorted into their respectable houses, the students made their ways to their common rooms. The American walked beside me, dressed in Slytherin robes, and I could barely conceal my happiness. The minute he'd told me we would be in the same house and share the same room, my expression must have lit up like a flame roaring into life from one lonely ember. We entered the chamber and everyone branched off in groups, pairs, or alone, spreading the silk tendrils of a web toward private destinations and I sat on the couch by the fireplace. It took only a moment before the new seventh year sat beside me and threw his arms across the back of the couch, lifting his leg to hook his ankle over his other knee.

A light sensation on my shoulder opposite of him alerted me and I gazed through the corner of my eye at his fingers as they brushed my sleeve again. A heard an urgent mumble and looked over at two girls as they stared at us, whispering to each other and not trying to hide it. For a moment I wondered what they were trading in hushed words but as the one beside me nudged his knee against mine all inquires were forgotten and I turned my attention to him. My form tensed as he leaned towards me; a thousand thoughts ran in a frantic string through my mind as he pulled his lips close to my ear. What would people think? Would rest of the school find out about us? Would I be ridiculed by my fellow Slytherins, the people that practically worshiped me? Would my entire reputation be destroyed?

"Let's disappear." He whispered softly in my ear and the goose bumps that rose on my neck and arms caused my fears to melt. Everything around us vanished as he stood and I followed, it seemed that the other students vaporized along with our surrounding leaving only us. I was vaguely aware as we stepped out of the portrait, dodged into a dark corner of the corridor to avoid professor Snape as he went to greet his house, walked in silence with an uncertain goal, and then closed ourselves inside the trophy room. I wanted to question why he'd chosen this place, one that was forbidden to students unless accompanied by a teacher, but he seemed interested in examining the plaques and awards. "This school has so many more trophies then mine did. I don't know whether or not to be jealous." He mumbled to me as he gestured to the many gold colored cups, an unusually amused look on his thin face.

"A far amount of Quiddich champions were trained here." Where had I heard that? Had I actually listened to the previous Slytherin captain when he gave his lively talks before our competitions? How glad I was that he had left, because he was gone I had been promoted to captain.

"Quiddich?" he said with childlike curiosity turning away from the enchanting prizes to raise one ebony eyebrow at me. "What on earth is that?"

Gray depths widening, I stared at him like his skin was turning Technicolor or he'd grown another head. Was Hogwarts so successful in keeping their secrets that they hadn't even informed their sister school of their favorite sport? "You've… really never heard of Quiddich?" There was a sense of awe in my voice for I found this strangely exciting; he was so much more experienced sexually, but he was a virgin to one of my loves.

"What is it?" he asked again, walking towards me and my surprised eyes trailed him. He reached out and took my hand in his, lifting it up to nibble gently on the tip of my index finger whilst his piercing orbs shined at me with inquiry. "It's a game, right?" And then he bit down harder.

A bolt of stinging pain ran up my arm, which twitched in surprise, and I was drawn from my state of wonder. "Yes, it's a game on broomstick." I answered in a choked tone, my arm tingling, and fought not to give a pleased whine as he sucked on the spot he had abused in an almost apologetic way. "There are four positions to play in Quiddich: keeper, chaser, beater, and seeker."

"Which are you?" My breath hitched as he moved into my comfort zone and brought his face close to mine. "Are you a keeper, protector of your team's goal? Are you a chaser, control freak of points? Are you a beater, vicious when it comes to taking down enemies?" A grin planted itself on his face as my mouth dropped open and my eyebrows forked down; he lied to me. "No, you're more graceful then that. You're a seeker. You, my friend, are the underdog of the game, whose only goal is capture a zippy little golden snitch. And yet, you are the most celebrated of your team and you should be, you have the most skill."

"You said you didn't know anything about Quiddich." I whispered softly, eyes falling half-lidded as he placed his hands on either side of my face, setting his forehead against mine. "Do you always lie?" Such a blunt question had caught him off guard and he jerked back, an extremely displeased expression on his face. Suddenly, he reminded me of my father and I subconsciously prepared to be slapped.

But, the pain never came; he just heaved an annoyed sigh and turned his back on me, crossing his arms. "I wasn't lying." He hissed in a way that reminded me of the sound of Potter's parselmouth tone and the very thought made me shudder, not because of the mere sound but because of the person it resembled. "I just wasn't telling the truth." He turned to me, giving a handsome smirk, and all of my comparisons of him to my tyrannical father melted before me. His hand reached out and I felt his fingertips brush my cheek, drawing a hitched breath from me, before he leaned forward and captured my lips with his.

This kiss, just as breath taking as the other, took an unexpected turn and I jumped at the touch of his hand on the bare skin of my stomach, somehow he had worked my robes open and under my shirt without me knowing. I stepped backward in retaliation but both his arms encircled my waist and he pressed his mouth to mine with a bruising force. I tried to protest but as my lips parted to tell him to stop his tongue quickly jutted in, cutting off my words and choking me in one motion. My lungs began to complain, coldly burning in an unorthodox fashion, the ache almost too much to bear.

"Stop!" I nearly shouted when I finally recalled the freedom of my limply hanging arms and pushed him away, both of us stumbling backwards. I slammed full force into a trophy case, smashing the glass into a thousand pieces and cutting up the back of my robes and the skin beneath, but thankfully all without disturbing the rather large golden cup the shattered container held. My ears perked as I heard footsteps coming quickly down the hall and I shot a frightened glance at Terren, who just stared at me with a mixture of confusion and betrayal. Quickly I pulled my wand from the inside of my robes and pointed it at the broken holder, firmly whispering "_Reparo_!" The glass fragments shot up back into their places and melded together seamlessly just as the doorknob of the room creaked and Filch, escorted by his scrawny cat, burst in.

"I cannot believe it!" sneered Professor Snape, glaring at us, whilst we stood in his office. I stared at my feet like they were positively the most interesting things in the universe, trying to ignore his exasperated tone, but the feel of my favorite teacher's eyes on me was enough to make tiny beads of sweat appear on my temple. "The first night you come back and you've already broken school rules! Neither of you are in your dormitory! You snuck into a wing that is closed to students! I did not see either of you at the mandatory overview I gave!" His voice was rising now from that chilly hiss, for he was taking a fair amount of personal offense.

"You've already torn your robes, Malfoy!" I cringed at the sound of my name and briefly glanced up and his slightly reddened face before returning my gaze to my footwear. "And you're not wearing your Prefect badge! You, a Prefect, defying authority!" His voice broke and he let out a difficult sound, as if he did not know what else to say. "Both of you a week's detention!"

My head snapped up in surprise; never before had I been given detention by the head of my house. I groped my mind for words as I gazed at him in utter shock for a moment. "But, professor-" I finally blurted out, but he cut me off as soon as he heard my voice.

"And thirty points from Slytherin!" In response my jaw dropped; how on earth could he take points from his own house! Did he want us to win or not! "I'm very disappointed in both of you!" He said finally before he swept with a gliding motion behind his desk and dropped into his chair with a huff. "You!" he pointed to Terren, who didn't even flinch and I wondered he could possibly achieve such a lack of emotion. "Go to the dormitory!"

The angrily flushed professor turned his black eyes to me and I resisted the urge to step back, shooting a desperate glance at my American companion as he walked out stoically and the door closed behind him with a soft click. "You go to the Hospital Wing." I nodded in a jerky manner and turned away towards the door, but as soon as my hand fell upon the handle his voice stopped me again. "Just because you're my student, and it's true I give you certain privileges, doesn't give you the right to misbehave; I'll have no sympathy for you."

Waiting for me in an armchair by the weakly smoldering fire as I entered the Slytherin common room, Terren stood and walked over to me. He'd removed his robes, and wore only his patched pants and white tank top, revealing his muscled arms. "Hello, Te-" I began but gasped as he fisted his hands in the front of my newly mended robes, knocking me back into the closed wall of the portal so hard the air was compelled from my lungs and holding me there. "Terren?" I asked in a confused and slightly frightened manner whilst I stared into those blue eyes, turned stony in anger with my own depths wide. His face was so close to mine that I could feel his hot breath; our noses were barely an inch apart.

"You got us in trouble!" I was speechless, I'd never actually been confronted so violently before, and I was secretly glad there was no one else in the room. Wait, I got us in trouble? Wasn't it his idea to leave the room after hours? But, the words never came, it seemed that my heart, which was thumping loudly under my Adam's apple had restricted my voice. "If you hadn't freaked out, then that squib would never have found us!"

The other turned away with a huff and I slid to the floor; funny, I hadn't known I'd been dangling. I stared at his back with my mind racing with pained thoughts. What if he was right? There was a certain amount of logic behind his accusations and the longer I stared at the muscles rippling crossly between his shoulder blades the more I believed his reasoning. As my eyebrows bowed down and guilt overtook me, I let my head tilt to the ground where my gray orbs fixated on the heels of his bare feet. "I'm sorry." I said in the softest tone I could muster; it burned to say such words, for they chipped away at my pride with scolding picks. I wondered if he'd even heard me, for he didn't move for a while.

Then I saw his feet twist around and his hand moved under my chin to lift it up, where he stared in an almost pitying way at me. Eyes soft again and a smile quirking his lips, he pulled me into a gentle, warm embrace and I clutched him almost desperately. "It's fine." He muttered into my ear and he kissed my neck softly. "We all make mistakes."


	2. Chapter One Dancing on Insanity Lane

Chapter One – Dancing on Insanity Lane

Servants danced about in their haste to please me, their chocolate eyes wide and unseeing as they unwittingly abided by my every command, bowing to me as if I was their god. Fools, every one of them, but that's how I liked them, it was much easier to slaughter and devour a brainless cookie then an intelligent being. And this was my land of candy, I ruled as the dictator of sweets.

"Hail Lord Draco!" They screamed as I munched absently on a delicious clump of fudge, my body draped in white and gold robes that flowed like silk rivers over my throne of gumdrops. I simply sneered at them and they cowered in fear; I loved it.

A gentle sensation running down my back caused my body to tense and the candy in my hand fell to the ground, crumpling into pieces and my slaves to stopped, staring in horror. My world exploded into black and stars rushed by me, filling me with the want of their spectacular shine in my grasp. I wanted to own them as I had owned the land that was lost to me now, but then I forgot them as I heard whispered words thundering in my ears. "Draco, you dork, wake up."

Granite gray depths opened slowly, revealing a blurring world that I had not known for what felt like ages, then the realty of my vision came to me and I scoffed at myself inwardly. Who dreams of conquering a land of sugary treats? Apparently I did, and as I rolled onto my side and turned my still hazy gaze to the American on the edge of my mattress, the concealing green bed curtains for his backdrop, I pretended that I hadn't had any imagery while I had slept. What would he think of me as the ruler of cookies?

Sitting up, I cast an unworried glance to the sleeve of my pajama top when it fell down my arm as it perfectly should regarding to my neglect to ever button the front. Suddenly I was cold on this Monday, dew covered morning, the first day of the school year and very briefly I wondered what time it was. "What do you-" I began but my voice broke in a yawn, followed by a much-needed stretch to the heavens. "-want?" Came the last of my sentence while I lifted a hand to pick at the sleep grit scratching at my tear ducts.

"Good morning to you too." He answered softly, a grin lighting his face, leaning forward to nudge his nose against my cheek and I shivered, not from the contact but from the feel of his eerily frigid skin. Goosebumps raced across my arms and sides when he grabbed me at the back with one equally icy hand and pulled me toward him just by a few inches, breathing against my neck. I melted in his grip; the air he exhaled was hot to the touch, so beautifully different from his external feel.

"I think we should leave before anyone wakes." As he spoke, puffs of wonderful heat caressed me, warming me against the prickling needles of the morning freeze, and I didn't care what time it was or if anyone saw us; all I wanted to feel was him. So, I nodded dimly, barely even aware of what he'd actually said and he drew back just barely, lifting the hand that had been hanging loosely at his side and revealing my robes clutched in his fist. "Though I hate to say it, get dressed, gorgeous, I'll meet you in the common room."

My eyes came back into focus as he pulled back the drapes and dipped under them, disappearing from my view as they fell back into place, but I could still hear him softly patter over to the dormitory door, open it with a defiant creak, and then overstep my hearing range. Abruptly I realized my lungs were complaining painfully as I had forgot to inhale and breathed in deep, my pale blonde eyebrows knitting down into a point between my eyes. "Did he just call me 'gorgeous'?" I questioned the room, in which the only answer was the screeching protest of a bed and a loud snort as Crabb turned over several feet from where I sat bewildered.

Thankfully enough there were no rules against wondering the school in the morning, at least none I knew of, my silver Prefect's badge shined in reflection of my knowledge, and so we walked indifferently. The portraits that lined the inclining walls flanking us as we ascended the stairs to the main floor slowly began to awaken with startled murmurs when they heard our echoing footsteps. But, the noise of our strides was the only sound of our journey and several times I turned my head to him to ask where he was headed so confidently, but each instance the words snagged on my tongue. Was it right to question someone so sure of himself, was it out of line?

Again I related him to my father, whom in his presence made me inquire of my own thoughts before they spilled from my mouth. But, as he stopped in front of the staircase that lead to the astronomy tower and cast an almost appreciative glance to me, I forgot my abusive parent and gave a small smile back. This devilishly handsome foreign man was nothing like my father; his gaze held warmth and compassion, even if he was somewhat jagged around the edges. I could get used to his flash-violent demeanor, a small price to pay for his company.

These wonderfully sugarcoated beliefs followed up the spiral flight of steps and into the tiny circular room just below the observatory, where he went promptly over to the one and only window, so dwarfed in comparison to the others that lined the rest of the school, and pushed it open, staring out onto the grounds. I cast my eyes around, guessing that this was some sort of storage room, for it held non-bewitched brooms and various other Muggle-related utensils that a certain Squib would use. There was a small bookshelf with weathered works of literature that seemed so fragile that they would crumble if touched and I turned my nose up at it; I had a beautiful assortment of novels at the Manor and such a sight as the dusty, untouched books disgusted me.

"Draco, c'mere." Came a gentle order from my companion, turning half way toward me and waving me over absently, still looking outside. I came up beside him silently and he looped his arm idly over my hip; the sun had half raised over the dark, swaying peaks of the Forbidden Forest, casting an illuminating glow over the otherwise depressing wooded area. Above the sleepy, red-orange half globe were liquid pinks and purples, swirling with one another and mixing brilliantly as their master made its ascent. And even further above the playful colors was the quickly receding blackness of the former night, speckled with muted stars that winked weakly, trying to hold on to their splendor.

"It's stunning, isn't it?" flowed the soft murmur of Terren voice and I tilted my head towards his in agreement, before he turned from the sunrise and assembled on the window seal, throwing one leg out to straddle the supportive stone. "It's been awhile. Only once before have I seen a sunrise and it was also in England." As he spoke, he unbuttoned his robes just barely and began digging inside them inattentively, his fathomless eyes on the sun so leisurely intent on its task of blanketing the world in light. "I was eight when my parents, little sister, and I all went to a little town outside of London, and I saw it for the first time." He finally found what he was feeling around for and pulled it out; it was a bottle of black nail polish and I raised one eyebrow as he shook it without seeming to think about his actions at all.

"We were sleeping in a ground level flat by the main street and I awoke to the sound of horse hooves on cobble stone. So, quietly as to not wake them, I wondered out, still in my nightshirt into the bitter morning air." As he paused to uncork the bottle he held, I sat opposite of him with my legs folded and stared at him with calm interest, watching him sweep the black covered brush over one of his nails. "An Amish buggy driver was fading into the distance and I looked across the courtyard, past the dry, unforgiving well, over the little cottages, and into the meeting point of two crossed mountains."

And he stopped suddenly, looking up from his task and out to the sun that was slowly gaining momentum, shining into the room and giving it a less gloomy feel. But he didn't see the sight, more like gazing into the memories it provoked and wasn't in much of a hurry to leave his recollection. "A tiny, almost shy sun was peering through those mountains, as if it was staring at me whilst everything else was insignificant and boring. I was a small boy, unaware of the magic inside of me, so innocent, frail, and tolerant of my world, so content." He breathed in and tilted his head back to painting his nails, cobalt orbs obscured with inner visions.

"I could almost feel a sense of uplifting confidence surge within me as the sun and I traded stares. I'd never heard people speak of sunrises being anything more then just pretty sites, but I was special, I had felt what no one could describe unless they experienced it as well. I believed I was absolutely unstoppable, that nothing could ever get in my way. And, nothing ever has."

"Is that why you're so self-assured?" I wondered aloud, not actually meaning to say it, as I watched him flawlessly finish off the last nail that screamed for attention. The American must have been or something close to ambidextrous, my mother had complained in her lifetime that painting your nails with your recessive hand was a major pain.

"That and many other things." He remarked distractedly, breaking my musings with new ones and I tilted my head to the side without thinking. His statement practically demanded to be subjected to interrogation, but his blank, unresponsive eyes made me think before I spoke, and then he opened his mouth with a quick, sharp intake of air and muttered, "You look cute like that." Realizing what he meant, I straitened my neck and felt the blush rush to my cheeks; I had never been told I had been "cute" in anything I did and I didn't know whether or not I like it.

Without saying anything, he put his nail polish back into his robes and fished out a pack of cigarettes, causing me to give a tiny grimace. Placing one cancer-causing stick between his teeth, he lifted the lighter that had been in the little box and lit it, his face flaring with yellow briefly as a small flame erupted behind his cupped hand. He must have noticed my stare on him because he looked at me and offered me one as well, which I promptly declined with a critical shake of my head.

"I prefer not to." I said, throwing my leg that was hanging illogically out of the tower back into the room, I hopped off the ledge and placed my hands on it, staring out over the now relatively sunny grounds. Out of the corner of my eye I watched him breath in deep and then blow the smoke into the air outside of the window without taking the cigarette out of his mouth. "Why do you smoke?" I asked him softly, another mental pondering that had worked its way out of my mouth and immediately cursed myself for it.

Sapphire eyes turned on me, narrowed and piercing, before he climbed off the window seal as well, letting his hip lean against it as he ran his gaze over me. "Why _don't_ you smoke?" he questioned me in a somewhat sarcastic way, taking the roll of tobacco from his lips and bending toward me a little.

"I just… don't."

With my answer, a smirk lifted his lips and he turned so that he could throw his arm over my shoulder and pull me against him. "Well," he started, his face coming close to mine and I flinched as the revolting smell a smoker greeted my nostrils. "I just do." He murmured against my ear, his lips tickling the sensitive skin and I visibly shivered at the feeling.

Pulling back just scarcely, he took me by the arm and wheeled me towards him so abruptly that I had to grab onto the ledge so I didn't stumble into him. His arms encircled my waist and he drew me closer, closing his eyes romantically with his lips drawing close to mine, but I jerked my head to the side, the skin of my nose scrunched up. "What?" he demanded, displeasure rising in his voice as he considered my facial expression with his eyes hardening to a deep blue.

"No, thank you." I stated, fighting to keep my voice from turning into a hiss, as I closed the hand that wasn't gripping the ledge for balance around his bicep. "You'll taste like tobacco."

"Oh really?" He responded, one of his hands leaving my back and I looked, it was the one holding his cigarette and it traveled threateningly close to the back of my supporting hand. "And what's wrong with that?" He muttered just when he turned his cigarette burning side down and pushed it into my hand, holding me there so I couldn't jump back as I gave a surprised gasp, my fingers splaying before curling like claws, the entire arm shaking. The grip I had on his arm tightened and the muscle beneath it jumped, but he didn't budge, only kept his cigarette bud against my hand.

My vision blurred and my eyes pressured to water from the pure sensation of the searing pain, the hissing of my flesh smoldering, and his powerful, livid stare on me. I bit my lip, refusing to let the desperate, scratching whine in my throat out, and my entire body quaked against his as he restrained me. But abruptly he moved, tossing the bunched remains of the cigarette out the open window and lifting my abused hand up to examine it. An angry red welt pulsed near my middle knuckle, freckled with ashes, and causing a throbbing to race up my arm but the sight to me was vague as my eyes stung still of salt water.

"You're not going to cry, are you?" I heard him whisper and my depths snapped up to his, where I saw annoyance and a hint of betrayal. He was obviously angry that I hadn't kissed him and felt that such treatment was due punishment; in my life of beatings I didn't know how to react or whether his actions were justified or not.

My intertwined anger and dismay ebbed when he touched the burning point of my hand to the freezing skin of his cheek, sending a cool reprieve through my quivering arm and into my veins, and I couldn't help but sigh at the contact. Was this his apology, although abstract? It didn't matter, I leaned into him, our torsos fitting from hip to chest almost perfectly even with our height difference. I found myself looking up at him, gray against cobalt, our noses an inch apart and closing in slowly.

Pressing his lips to mine, Terren roughly trapped me between a curved wall and himself, taking both my hands, interlocking our fingers, and trying to pry my lips apart with his tongue. I gasped in a pained fashion as he slammed the backs of my hands against the wall on either side of my head, taking that opportunity to ravage my mouth. As I thought he would, he tasted like a smoker and I gave a whine, although muted, in complaint but it went without heed. I would have thrashed, kicked, or something if he wasn't towering over me and holding me still with his body; he had leverage to keep me at bay.

I could have screamed in delight when a shrill ring sounded loudly around us and he wrenched himself away from me; I fought not to collapse to my knees when my body failed to respond. "Breakfast." He said ever so blatantly, brushing the side of my flushed face with his fingers before he turned on his heel and left me alone. I glared after him, but knew the moment I saw him again I would forget he ever did anything and simply be pleased with his attention, I mentally noted to kick myself later for it.

Drawing my wand from my robes, I swept it just above the pulsating welt on my hand, muttering softly, and the wound healed instantaneously. Depositing my instrument again, I straightened my ruffled, maltreated clothing, combed my hand through my hair and headed for the Slytherin common room for my things, after which I would go to the great hall. Even though lessons hadn't even started I had a sinking feeling in my gut that I wasn't going to have the most pleasant of days.

I only stayed at breakfast long enough to receive my schedule, then I was out of the hall before anyone could question me. To my great but hidden horror, pre-N.E.W.T. level potions was my first class and that's where I headed to veer from any human contact at that point; I sat on the corner of a statue's standing block and tried to ignore the stares the resident sculpture was giving me. At that moment, I half-wished that the portraits and carvings weren't bewitched into life; it was ridiculously hard to get any privacy inside the school.

The statue was of a woman, Margaret Slytherin, the daughter of one of the founders of Hogwarts and a brilliant duelist, which is why she held a wand in her thin-fingered hand, pointing directly forward at chest level with her other hand on her hip. It was a commonly used pose when a duel is won to taunt the losing side, but she had been the first to do it and so it was her trademark. She had curly hair and robes still framed like they were billowing in the wind, far too dramatic to be interesting.

"So are you going to tell me what's bothering you, or must I watch you until you move?" the effigy said, tilting her head to the side as if her stony curls would shift with the movement and blinking her wide, granite eyes. I gave an annoyed snort in response and shifted where I sat, turning my back further towards her. "It's not like I'll tell anyone, everybody ignores me anyway."

"I wonder why." I said not so quietly with sarcasm dripping from my voice and smirked secretly at her miffed huff, looking back at her as her stony neck gave a creak and saw that she had looked away, her nose in the air and a frown on her lips. "My problems are none of your concern."

The statuette's face snapped back to mine, her eyebrows forking down and eyes narrowing. "If I could move the rest of my body, I'd smack you with my wand!" I couldn't help but grin at that; several years before I started at Hogwarts, the statues were allowed free range of movement of their entire body, but when one student angered a sword wielding armored suit and almost lost his head, the charming was limited. "You, as a Slytherin, should show your predecessor some respect!"

"Whatever." I muttered and set my elbow on my knee, resting my chin on my palm, as she continued to complain and rant about how thankful I and the rest of the student body should have been for her very existence. I couldn't help but be grateful when I heard stifled voices coming from the stairwell that lead to the dungeons where I sat, but my breath caught in my throat when I recognized them. Looking around quickly I spotted a dark corner and made to go for it when a voice stopped me.

"Why on earth are you hiding?" demanded the statue in a loud voice and I cringed, wheeling about on her and waving my arms frantically. "What _is_ your problem?"

"I'll tell you later if you just be quiet!" The carved woman seemed somewhat satisfied and nodded, her face reverting back to boredom as if she never saw me. I hopped into the shadows just in time as two Gryffindors stepped into the room: Harry Potter and his Muggle born friend, Granger.

"Hermione, I'm telling you, it's not a good idea to try and persuade the house elves into an uprising." Said the scarred boy, moving his glasses up his nose while his companion stared in a different direction unhappily. He tried to move in front of her and catch her attention, but gave up when she refused to look at him and stood with his back to me. "They are happy here, why do you want to take that away?"

"Would you be happy as a slave?" The girl hissed, her frizzy hair slinging madly as she wrenched her head to face him, and he took one step back, closer to me. Silently I hoped that she wouldn't back him in my hiding place but as she kept yelling at him, he kept moving away from her. "This life of oppression is no life at all!"

"I-it's the only life they know, Her-"

"That's the point!" She screeched and Potter jumped back, his heel inches from my feet and I drew in a surprised breath, clenching my eyes shut and waiting to be discovered. "They shouldn't be forced to do things for us from birth, it should be their choice! If they had ever known freedom, they would obviously prefer it over this life of servitude!"

"They are creatures of low birth!" came the prominent voice of the statuette abruptly and I wordlessly thanked her, if Potter had backed up anymore, he would have found me and all hell would have broken loose. As the young witch turned to the stone woman in surprise, the boy before me sighed and quickly jumped away from the corner, away from being trapped like a frightened mouse. "If they were of pure elvin blood then they would not have to serve the magic users, but they are elf/gnome mudbloods."

"That's an idiotic reason to enslave them!" screamed the girl and I raised an eyebrow; she was definitely determined. "House elves are a completely different species, they-"

"Kindly quit your yelling, Miss Granger," Came a low, malevolent voice that everyone knew so very well, and we turned to looked at the bottom of the stairs were Professor Snape stood with a few, shocked students. "Class is about to begin." More teenagers began flooding the room as he unlocked the classroom door and let them in, all of them chatting about things that would mean nothing the next day.

It was a small class, a mere twelve students, and the scholar seemed to like it that way, even though such a limited amount of faces made it obvious that he was avoiding looking at me, still angry about my disobedience. Even though he refused to meet my gaze, I could have sworn I felt someone's stare on me, but every time I glanced up, he was either lecturing or berating one the many incompetent students. I searched the classroom and to my dismay Milicent Bolstrode kept trying to lock eyes with me; I would shudder inwardly whenever I couldn't look away fast enough, in which she would bat her beady eyes at me or even once blow me a kiss. Why in the name of everything holy Professor Snape had allowed her into such a high-level class was completely beyond me.

Continuing to survey for the watch I kept sensing, gray depths fell on Harry Potter and his bookish counterpart, whom had their head tilted, touching one another at their temples and murmuring, whether about the advanced healing potion we were making or otherwise I could not tell. Turning my stare from them, I sneered at my almost perfect concoction and reduced the flame, watching it as it thicken. "By now, your potion should be a cobalt color," I heard the scholar hiss, his voice uncompassionate and as lazy as normal. Mine wasn't the definition of cobalt but it was absolutely a dark blue. "And a grayish green smoke should be rising from it." Well, did greenish gray count? Or how about just gray with a slight hint of green?

It was far too late to turn back by then so I just snuffed out the fire and immediately ladled it into a flask and corked it, walking in stride with a slightly surprised Granger up to our teacher's desk. He nodded to the girl and took her finished product, muttering praise that didn't exceed three words, before wrenching mine from my grasp without so much as a glance. Shocked brown eyes fell on me and I lifted my lip in annoyance at her, before turning on my heel and venturing back to my table.

I halted briefly as I raised my wand to clear my cauldron and glanced back to the teacher; if he decided to incite revenge for my misbehavior and knock my flask onto the floor, as he done mostly only to Potter, then I would have to redo it after lessons. Lowering my wand, I glared at him; I wouldn't fall into his trap, I would keep the remains of my potion until the bell sounded and I was sure he wouldn't destroy my work.

There was a gaze on me again and I jerked my head to the side, thinking it might have been Bolstrode gawking idly at me, but I saw instead vivid green eyes advert quickly; it had not been that silly girl, but Harry Potter. Lips parting in thought, I turned back to my cooling potion and let my eyebrows fork down. Why had he, of all people, been looking at me? Surely Granger had told him of the professor's bitterness for me; was he concerned that he was not the reigning point of annoyance?

Before I could ponder my inquiry there was a violent crack as my cold potion erupted in a cloud of dust and smoke. I backed out of the wreckage of my workstation coughing insanely, covered head to toe in green and blue powder, and my shoulder hit something soft yet sturdy, looking up through stinging eyes I met the angered stare of my teacher and deflated. As they said in those old American gangster films that my mother and I had secretly watched when I was a child, I was "in for it".

"This potion shouldn't reach room temperature, Mr. Malfoy," I shivered at the use of my family name; he normally called me by my first name, but he apparently became now aghast at my existence by the moment. "You would have known that had you have read the directions correctly." My neck was starting to hurt from craning it back to look up at him, but I would much rather he stayed where he was then step away and return to the front of the room, setting his finger on the cork of my flask; mentally I begged him to have mercy. With an agile flick of his wrist, the container went tumbling off the corner of his desk fell with a crash like a deafening scream in the dead silence of the shocked students and my nearly faultless potion spilled across the stone. "Detention, Mr. Malfoy. Go clean up."

Nodding in understanding, I swiveled and walked briskly toward the exit where whispers and silent giggles followed me. As my hand fell on the handle, I glanced at Harry Potter, expecting to see him with an egotistical grin and so I was prepared with a piercing glower. But, to my surprise, he was not amused with my humiliation, and by the look on his face he seemed to have never respected me until then.

Closing the door behind me, I leaned back against it and stared at my dust-covered shoes with a frown on my face and confusion in my eyes. Even though the year had barely even started I felt like my heart was tearing itself into pieces already, such a sensation usually came after several months of school. In my fifth year, I was torn between happiness and anguish when my father had been discovered as a death eater and sent to Azkaban. I suppose I had been glad that I had went home to an empty house at first, but I knew that when he was freed with his many connections, he would take his anger with his failure out on me. And when he had came home around the end of the holiday, much earlier then I had ever expected, there was not a night that I had not stayed awake healing my bruises and cuts, only to have more the next day.

"Again with the sulking!" Came an annoyed, high-pitched voice and I awoke from my reverie to the stare of the statuette, whom snorted when I finally noticed her. "What happened now? I heard your little incident and you're filthy! Did you make Snape angry?"

"I'm not exactly in the mood." I snapped, pushing away from the door and marching toward the stairs, trying my best to ignore her complaints. "You may be centuries old, but you don't know everything."

"I know someone who's hiding from the world when I see one." I stopped when I heard her say that and turned to my head to look at her over my shoulder, my hand on the wall and my feet already part way up the steps. "I know when someone is oppressed, forced to do things they wish not to, when all they want is to simply live." Her stony head turned forward and she stared at the wall opposite of her, one of her silent companions. "I lived like that, in my father's footsteps, I mean. I married someone I did not love for 'the good of the bloodline' as he put it and died lonely and depressed."

"Why?" I whispered, slowly pivoting around to face her completely.

"In all my years of standing here, I've yet to answer that." If she could have sighed, she most likely would have, but instead she shifted her head back to me and gave a forced smile, her granite eyes reflecting years of sadness. "If you find the answer, will you tell me?" For a long moment I gazed at her, my mind a madness of thoughts and questions, but eventually I nodded and she turned back to look forward. "Thank you."

Transfigurations, yet another pre-N.E.W.T. level course for my grade, was my second class for the day and during those two hours a melancholy shadow lurked around me, so prominent that even the head of the Gryffindor house noticed. Why she cared, I'll never know. She kept casting nearly concerned glances at me when I refused to speak to my curious classmates or answer any of her questions about the subject she was teaching. I simply ignored her, pretended she didn't exist and concentrated on the skull splitting migraine I had.

When class let out, I quickly gathered my things, acted as if I didn't hear the Professor's voice calling me to her, and walked out of the room, my forehead cupped in my hand. I was barely even aware of the grass folding under my feet as I made my way out onto the school grounds for Care for Magical Creatures, all I could feel was my hot breath on my dry lips. I collapsed against the outside wall of the half-giant's shed, sliding down slowly with my bag falling to the ground disregarded and my cohorts staring at me like they were lost. I felt numb, limp, or otherwise completely without control of my own body and I could barely hear anything of my surroundings, even the sound of the baboon of a teacher's voice was lost in the shrill ringing in my ears.

Gray depths falling shut, I saw black with little puffs of red that came in time with my breath and heard only the constant, piercing humming that muffled everything else. I felt feverish and as I blindly lifted the back of my hand to my forehead, finding not scolding heat but frigid cold, drops of sweat sunk between my fingers and I sighed. Such unusual symptoms, my insides burning and my skin like ice, not to mention my inability to hear.

Opening my eyes halfway, I glanced out of the corner of my eyes at the rest of the class, who were giggling over the little creatures that resembled balls of fur in their hands that squeaked and chortled when touched. Weasely, Granger, and Harry Potter each had their own and they seemed to be having a playful conversation on whose was the best. The leader, with his unfathomable emerald eyes, turned his vision to me and I stared back, unable to neither look away nor make any kind of crude expression. Then he took a step, between his chattering companions, and started to make his way in my direction, causing my orbs to widen as I clawed at the wall behind me to try and stand. My limbs refused to cooperate and he was still coming towards me, the other two of his groups staring after him like his skin was changing color or he was a completely different person.

Despite the protests of my cronies, he knelt beside me and I finally managed a glare, but mostly annoyed with the fuzz ball in his grasp. "That the hell's the matter with you?" Even with the violent noise in my ears, his voice was remarkably clear but I didn't know if I'd heard him at all, for those few words held very little of the scorn he'd become so acquainted with using when speaking to me. "You look like you're dying."

"You're one to talk, Potter." I rasped, turning from him and again making a sincere effort to get to my feet, and sneered disapprovingly at my cohorts as they made the instinctual step forward to aid me. "Don't touch me." I muttered to them, sliding up the wall with my back to the Gryffindor boy before looking over my shoulder at him. He had stood as well, staring at me in a shocked manner, threaded with something albeit barely there, to my unsteadying, that may have echoed concern before he masked it with annoyance. "What do you-"

"I want to talk to you, privately." His gazed flickered at Crabb and Goyle when he said that and they immediately started complaining about possible assassination attempts if they left me alone with The Boy Who Lived. At first I didn't know how to react, why on earth would Harry Potter want to talk to me, his archenemy? I held up my hand to silence my followers and their whining came to a stop instantaneously, although their faces shined of reluctance, before I waved them off dismissively and they stomped off to the shade of a tree and stared me us, ready and willing to help me if I was jumped.

"What's wrong with you this year? Why are you-"

"You just start questioning me like I owe you an explanation?" I cut in, the ringing in my ears getting louder by the second and I visibly cringed, but continued before he could say anything. "Don't you have Weasel and that Mudblood of yours to entertain? Heaven forbid they be without the great Potter for one second." Emerald darkened to jade, lightening flashed within those depths, and I fought not to gasp as I realized how beautiful those orbs were when he was angry. The well-known part of me, my sadistic half, however, smirked with satisfaction when his eyebrows forked down; I wanted to hurt him, I wanted to make him angry… I didn't want him to pity me.

"Fine." He snapped, wheeling about and stalking off in a huff, his robes ruffling in the air he unset in his haste as he rejoined his friends, whom automatically started questioning him. His head turned over his shoulder and he glowered at me, taking no notice of their inquiries and practically smashing the squealing creature in his grip.

When he finally looked away, I let my depths slide shut, circling as I did so, and pressed my face to the wood of the small building that supported me, raking my nails down the splintering wall. I suffered barely when bits of paint chip and caught between the flesh and enamel, digging into the sensitive area that would be ridiculously hard to clean later; I was almost thankful for the searing feeling, but it wasn't nearly enough to take my mind from the coursing thoughts. Why had he shown an inkling of kindness, although covered in bitterness? Had he realized my unwanted feelings for him because of my lack of ruthlessness toward him and his friends?

Granite, thunderstruck eyes burst open and I forgot to breath, my heart plummeting in my ears, overtaking the ring with his vicious rhythm. Was he trying to show that he, for some ungodly reason, had similar inclinations but was unable to show it as I was? Or… That beat in my head sank to an almost scary rhythm and I felt moisture sting the corners of my orbs. Was he just playing with me? Was my vulnerability a perfect reason to take revenge for all those uncalled-for remarks and insults?

Abruptly I was forced to pivot as a large hand took hold of my arm and I stared up in a vague, unseeing fashion at the bearded face of the teacher, who confronted me. He was speaking but all I could hear was the swishing in my mind like a violent tide of a full-mooned night, and his expression turned worried when I didn't respond. His face was distorted as black and white flashed in front of it and my vision turned into a swirl of colors, before I lost rein on my body again, sagging into him. Two figures, I could barely make out as my two cohorts, came running towards where I was and I felt the one holding me draw in a surprised breath as my world shattered into ebony.

No imaginary visions, whether good or bad, visited me in my unconsciousness and for that I was thankful, because for all I knew, I would picture my father screaming at me for my weak emotions. I was of the honorable Malfoy family, a line of Aristocratic pureblood magic users in which the worst fear was to be associated with anyone contaminated by Muggle blood. What would my powerful ancestors think if they knew that I not only had desire for the same gender, but for a hybrid who defied the Dark Lord multiple times? Personally, I didn't want to know.

As I regained awareness of my surrounding, my first sight was Madam Pomfrey dabbing my forehead with a cool compress as I lay on one of the clinic beds; she was already becoming a familiar sight, damn her. When she noticed that my eyes had opened, she gave me a tiny smile before putting hand under my back and helped me sit up, handing me a glass of water. As soon as my fingers wrapped around the cup and became slick with the condensation, I felt relief raced up my arm and drank it with uncharacteristic eagerness. The cool fluid was bliss against my scorching tongue and throat; it seemed to sooth my body as it engulfed everything in its path, extinguishing the angry flame that had caused me to pass out in the first place.

"Did something happen with your family, Mr. Malfoy?" the nurse asked me so suddenly that I would have choked on my drink if I hadn't swallowed the last bit in urgency. I looked over at her, my features absent of comprehension, as she took the glass and set it on the bedside stand, staring back at me with an almost motherly expression. "You had an anxiety attack." She stated ever so bluntly and I was taken off guard, nervousness wasn't exactly something that ran in my family, we were known to be cool, calm and collected. But, my actions over the last two days hadn't exactly portrayed the natural Malfoy personality. "I think you may need to see the Hogwarts councilor."

"Hogwarts has a councilor?" I asked without thinking, but shook my head to rid myself of questions and cut her off as she parted her lips to respond. "I'm fine, this year just started off differently then the others." Swinging my legs over the side of the bed opposite of where she was sitting, I stood and snatched my robes from the coat rack that held them. Quickly and haphazardly, I pulled them over my head and slung my book bag onto my shoulder. "I'll take it all in stride." I assured her without looking at her and started to walk off, hoping that she'd just leave it at that, but her next words made me halt.

"If this continues and I decide that you're a danger to yourself, you might have to be sent to St. Mungos for evaluation and relaxation." I turned on her, my gray eyes wide and mouth open, but she wasn't looking at me but at the groove I'd made in the sheets. "Anxiety is a dangerous thing, Mr. Malfoy, I wouldn't want you to from mad from it." Was she speaking from experience?

"I-I'm no where near going mad!" She gave me a skeptical look and I returned it with a sneer, quickly changing the subject. "How long was I out? Did I miss any classes?"

The woman shook her head with an unsatisfied frown on her wrinkled face, disheveled gray hair brushing her cheeks and ears. "No, only the one you were in, lunch started only a few minutes ago." I nodded with a jerk of my head and spun on the ball of my foot towards the exit, making my way to it. "I suggest you eat." I heard her say when my fingertips touched the door handle and I sighed in irritation. "You need to keep your strength."

But I wasn't hungry, in fact the though of food made my stomach lurch in an uncomfortable fashion, so I ventured for the library, which was virtually empty when I entered, expected for the librarian, who cast me an untrusting glance, thinking me and every other sole on the planet unworthy of touching her precious books. The paper that my Transfigurations Professor had assigned suddenly popped into my mind and I groaned inwardly, how depressing it was that a paper was the only thing I could do to pass the time. Suddenly I knew why Granger excelled at everything she did, she didn't have a life.

After I found a book that would assist me a little more with a report titled _Proper Wand Waving and Voice Inflection_, I settled at a small, circular table in the back of the giant room, ignoring the librarian's heated stare, and pulled my parchment, quill and ink from my beg. To pretend the pestering about my sudden anxiety were nonexistent; I immersed myself completely in my project, writing feverishly. Even though it was only assigned to be twenty inches in length, I had easily spilled out more in my forty-minute attempt to distract myself, when the double doors of the library opened.

I glanced up only to feed my instinct, but a grin split my face when I noticed that it was Terren who had entered the room; I tried to hide my excitement when he realized I was there and smiled, starting towards me. I knew I should have been angry with him for his behavior that morning, but as he gave a respectful nod to the librarian half way to where I sat, I couldn't help but he grateful for his existence. And as the bookkeeper regarded him with suspicion as she did to everybody, I felt more irritation with her then I did with the American.

"Hello, precious." He said in a hushed tone as he sat beside me and took my parchment from me, scanning it with semi-interest. Momentarily I pondered his obsession with pet names but when I felt his hand brush mine under the veil, the heat on my cheeks made me almost forget what he said. "This is pretty good." Came his words, but I wasn't concerned with the critique of my paper, I was far more fascinated in the way his fingers threaded between mine, their tips caressing my palm. "Very tiny grammatical mistakes, but they kind of give your writing individuality. I wouldn't change anything." He kept reading, before setting it down and pointing to a spot on the paper, the pad of his finger hovering over the barely dry ink. "Except here, this date, I think you're off by a few years."

As I leaned towards the parchment to see my possible error and compare the date to the one in the book, my shoulder touched his and I felt his lips sweep across my ear, causing me to take no notice of what I was looking at. Eyes fluttering close to block out the blurred world, I let his free hand creep up the inside of my sleeve, silently gasping as his tongue flicked out and wetly bathed the inside of my ear, causing a shiver to scamper up my spine and raise the hairs on the back of my neck. But as the doors opened once more, my eyes popped open and I jerked away from him, preceding to bury myself in my writing again.

Suddenly I became of the hand around my bicep again as it tightened its grip, I looked over at my companion, who wasn't looking at me, and followed his gaze. Inhabiting one end of the longer tables was Harry Potter and Granger, he seemed somewhat annoyed, most likely because she was lecturing him about homework or something of the like. Obviously he wasn't in any hurry to abide by her orders as he tried to look at everything but her and the book she'd shoved under his nose. I swiftly turned my gaze away as his bright green eyes came in the direction where Terren and I were sitting, but my comrade just stared right back at him, a challenge in his sapphire eyes, his hand closing on my arm even more firmly.

The Gryffindor was the first to look away and I finally lifted my eyes, turning to the one sitting beside me and raising a pale eyebrow at his grim expression. "I don't think I like that guy." He announced gruffly before I could question his intent appearance and my other brow joined the first whilst he shifted his head to frown at me. "I don't know him, but I already don't trust him."

"That's Harry Potter." There was a hint of awed confusion in my tone, such that betrayed my thoughts; it was almost unheard of to simply dislike someone for just being there. Even though I was told to hate Potter, I had a somewhat pleasant conversation with him in the robe fitting shop before I had known whom he was. I had actually only struck up a conversation with him because he had seemed to practically drip power and it can never hurt to have a potentially strong ally, whether magical or muscle-bound. Even when my fellow Slytherins had said that they had hated Potter on sight only because they recognized him by that bolt shaped scar on his forehead.

"Oh, no wonder." Before I could ask what he'd meant by that the bell sounded for the next class and he smiled at me. "Parting is such sweet sorrow, but I gotta go!" As I digested his reference to a popular Muggle playwright with minor mystification, he grabbed his bag, winked at me over his shoulder and hurriedly walked away. But, before he walked out, he shot one hard glance at the Gryffindor duo and was gone.

Rolling up my parchment, thoroughly pleased with my progress in my report, I stuffed it in my bag along with my ink and quill, slinging the strap over my shoulder and heading towards the doors. I ran my eyes over Granger and Potter as they gathered up their things, the girl still complaining about the lack of work they did and the boy not listening whatsoever, and pushed open the exit into the hall. As I pondered who in hell they'd gotten to teach my next class, Defense Against the Dark Arts, I pushed my way through the chatting students while they poured out of the Great Hall.

Not so rarely when students arrived to their classes their teachers were absolutely nowhere to be found, which was the occurrence when I walked into the room, the first to turn up. The walls were barren and the desks were empty, which wouldn't last long when the rest of my classmates decided to quit running their mouths to their friends. In the four years that I had attended and the fresh one I was starting, the room had changed so much, each time decorated according to the teacher's taste. Though blank walls weren't interesting, I would much rather have nothing then pictures of a self-loving, phony writer or mismatched, girly drapes of a frog-like woman from hell.

Something caught my eye and I treaded over to one desk, the closet one to the door, and found a bright green name twinkling up at me from being etched into the wood at the top left corner, _Stone, Bugsy_. Lifting my eyes, which were now utterly bewildered, I scanned the rest of the student tables and found that the room was integrated, the crooks of the desks shining of either jade or scarlet: the colors of the houses. Defiance rose in me as it usually did when my habit was broken; we had assigned seats for the first time at Hogwarts and felt it was an injustice to force it on us now. We would most likely have to sit by people we usually wouldn't and worst part of it was the room wasn't separated down the middle with the two houses on either sides.

Realization hit me and I briefly panicked, where was my seat? I hurried to the other side of the room to see if I could catch the pattern of the room and found the red letters _Armande, Josephina_ glittering up at me and the desk behind that one was impressed with _Banette, Trenston_ in green. Alphabetical order then; I walked to the side of the first in the order and found the name _Goyle, Gregory_; I couldn't help but smirk, if my stupid cohort sat in the front, that meant he wouldn't be able to cheat or sleep. I looked behind his seat and discovered that Granger would be sitting behind him; funny, I didn't know if I pitied her or not.

Moving to the next row, I found the first to be a Slytherin named _Lattimore, Ira;_ I didn't know him very well, the most I ever saw of him was in the hallways when he and his Gryffindor cousin were shouting at one another. And if his relative was in this class, there was no chance at peace. Turning, I strode slowly down the row that she led and my lip upturned at the sight of _Longbottom, Neville_, but took a step to look at the next name, eyes widening considerably. There it was, _Malfoy, Draco,_ the immaculate forest colored letters with a beautiful sheen embellished in the desk behind that of the fat Gryffindor.

Dropping my bag beside my desk with annoyance, I flopped down in my seat glanced to the side to see who would flank me as the rest of the students finally began piling in. _Hitoui, Jaridesse_ was the Slytherin at my left; I'd talked to her once or twice, so I wasn't worried about tension between us. She was of Japanese descent, quiet and invisible when she wanted to be but if she sought to speak, there was no stopping her, accompanied with large brown eyes that sparkled with intelligence, magnified by slightly crooked, purple-framed glasses. Clicking my tongue nonchalantly, I shifted my head to look to the other side of my and nearly fell out of my seat when my depths met shocked emerald.

"Potter, what-" Stopping mid-sentence, I dropped my gaze to the corner of his desk where proud red letters spelled out _Potter, Harry._ My knuckles turned white as I gripped the edges of my chair and briefly thought about simply getting up and walking out, but as I lifted my eyes to the boy's, my shoulders just drooped and I sharply looked away. "Great." I hissed sarcastically and tried to pay attention to everything but him as the bell sounded again with still no sign of the teacher.

The skin on the back of my neck prickled, forcing the short silvery hairs there to stand on end, when I felt the Gryffindor next to me continue to look at me, I tried to ignore in but there's only so much of staring I could take. After another minute, my eyebrow twitched violently and I had lost feeling in my fingers from hanging onto the chair, I jerked my head to glare at him. "What is your problem, Potter?" I snapped through clenched teeth and through the corner of my eye I saw Granger turn to look at us over her shoulder, but I pretended she didn't exist as I usually did, narrowing my eyes at the boy beside me. He seemed surprised suddenly, as if he just noticed that I had discovered him, and choked on air as he tried to think of what to say; I could just feel an animalistic growl working up in my throat.

A collective amount of gasps caught my attention and drew my eyes to the front of the room, but I couldn't see around the chubby boy in front of me, so I leaned to the side and blinked at the teacher's desk. A pair of pointed golden eyes peaked over the top of the wood, surrounded by a lean head of shiny, silver fur and topped two triangular ears, one perfectly pointed upward and the other bent over in the middle. The slender face of a large, white fox slowly emerged from being partially hidden and then the canine jumped up on the desk, looking around slowly and surveying the students. It had long, slim legs with tiny paws, peaked with black nails, a strong chest, a little waist, and a big, bushy tail-no, three bushy tails. I had read about these creatures, called _Kitsunes_, they were ridiculously hard to find because of hunters wanting them for their fur and were said to bring great magical enhancement to any wizard or witch that kept one. Briefly I wondered if this one wild and curious or the professor's pet.

After the giant fox had spent a long moment memorizing everything it saw through its sharp depths, it simply sat down and its mouth split in a wide yawn, which was joined by a noise that sounded like a high-pitched yip. It licked its lips and its bent ear twitched, causing its head to jolt, before it lifted its leg and scratched itself behind its irritated ear. In the process, one of its front paws lost traction on the wood of the desk and slipped out from beneath it, making it promptly topple right to the floor with a squeak. The class with in stunned silence as it just lay there for a moment sprawled out on its chest, its back end supported by the desk and its tails fanned over its body and face like a headdress. The rest of its body slid to the floor and its climbed to its feet, jerking its head around and glaring at the students, as if to say" I meant to do that", before it ventured around the desk where it jumped into the chair, setting its front paws on the desk.

Again the class said nothing, most of them probably wondering as I was if this Kitsune would be teaching us Defense Against the Dark Arts and how, but thoughts were cut short as the form of the fox began to shift. In one second, a tall, beautiful woman sat before the class, with gorgeous olive skin, ageless white hair that tumbled in waves down her back and shoulders, high cheeks bones and small pointed chin. Ample eyes like the color on a lake when the sun hit it lit up her face, assented with a button of a nose and little pinks lips. Lean hands poked out of her sleeves, nails painted rosy to match her lips, and on her right middle finger was a small silver band. A cord struck within me when I noticed the ring, but I didn't know why.

"Hello, class. I apologize for my leisurely entrance, I was dozing." A shudder unset my frame as she spoke in a deep but soft, flowing voice, the words rolling off her tongue as if any other would be unsuitable. "My name is Adrienne Church." And the name fit her so well, scandalous yet innocent all at the same time. "You may call me Adrienne if you want to, because Professor sounds peculiar to me. I taught this class in a Costa Rican sister school for a few years, where a female teacher would be called 'Profesora'." She added a Spanish accent to that word, barely rolling the second "r" and I felt my throat tighten in response; maybe I liked girls after all. "But, if you must, you may address me as Professor Church, I'll grow into it eventually."

The woman stood suddenly and smiled at the class, walking around to the side of the desk and setting her hand on her hip, even in those loose teaching robes, her curves were prominent, especially how they almost hugged her hips. "It's the first day of day and I am sure none of you are in the mood to jump immediately into lessons," She strode over to a cabinet as she spoke and opened it, not noticing as everyone in the class flickered their eyes to Granger as she gave a muted huff of disappointed and mumbled something about wasting time. "So how about we get to know one another." She rummaged through the cupboard and her eyebrows turned down before she turned to them, shrugging. "I can't find my box of photographs from when I went to this school."

Gliding back to her desk, she sat back down and set her elbow on the wood, cupping her chin in her palm with a look of concentration on her face. "Hm, oh well." Straightening, she laced her fingers and sighed softly, a small look of loss on her face, before she spoke. "I assure you that I'm not going to remember all of your names next time you come to class so please bare with me. I've had at least a thousand students in my years of teaching so if I accidentally call you by an estranged name, you probably remind me of a former student. So, don't hate me."

The rest of the class went relatively quickly and smoothly of her sharing small stories about other schools she had taught at and answering questions that the class had, but the bell rang and she reluctantly told them goodbye. The students also seemed somewhat unwilling to leave, but she ushered all of us out and shut the door behind us.

After I was finished staring at the ceiling for two hours in Mr. Binns's History of Magic class, I strode half-asleep to the library whilst the rest of the school headed for the Great Hall for dinner. I had no idea why I still wasn't hungry, but I wasn't a food deprived child so I could go with nourishment for one day and not die, so I settled at the same table in the back of the library, grabbed the same book, and continued work on the same report. The scratching of my quill, ruffling of my notes, and flipping of pages in my book was all I heard for close to half an hour and I was so deeply engrossed in my work that I nearly jumped out of my skin when a hand fell on my shoulder.

Piercing sapphire met gray and I gave a relieved smile as Terren sat beside me, taking my work again to look over it. "You're determined to get this done today, aren't you?" He said absently as his depths ran back and forth across my words on the parchment, his free hand creeping idly up my arm as it had done during lunch. Setting the project down, he turned his head to me and gave his beautiful cresent of ivory teeth. "Come to the owlery with me when you're finished, I want you to meet my crow."

I couldn't help the excitement that boiled within me as I opened my mouth to say that I would, but I remembered a previous engagement and gave a groan of regret, the exhilaration dying, before shaking my head. "I can't, I have detention." I returned to my writing, dipping my quill in its ebony ink and etching more words into the parchment. "Professor Snape is still pissed at me for disobeying school rules yesterday and sabotaged my work, so I have to redo it tonight." I said softly before he could question me and I felt him shift his seat to face a different direction, his hand slipping from holding my arm to land on my thigh unenthusiastically.

"I'll just show you my crow a different time." The American stated softly in a somewhat defeated voice, setting his elbow on the table and setting his cheek on his knuckles. The hand on my leg retracted completely and I found myself missing the contact, but tried not to let it show.

The silence that reigned between us was so deafening that I couldn't concentrate on my work and I kept glancing at him, seeing every time the same bored expression on his thin face. Eventually I just rolled up my parchment, earning a slightly inquisitive look from him, which I responded with a shrug, sighing softly. "I can work on this later." I stated simply and he perked up, interested appearing on his visage now that I would be able to pay attention to him. "Show me your crow."

The other boy almost hopped out of his chair in his haste, helping my put away the materials I had been using with my work and slinging his own book bag onto his shoulder. I walked beside him and he hurriedly pushed open the double doors, but we stopped dead in our tracks as we came face to face with Harry Potter and his bossy friend Granger. The four us stared at one another as the seconds ticked by with agonizing slowness and I found myself drowning in the emerald depths before me, before Terren wrapped his arm around my shoulders and pulled me away. I was taken so off guard that I fought not to trip over my own feet whilst I glanced back at them, watching surprise and bewilderment materialize on their faces. The girl quickly stepped into the room after she had recovered, but her friend gazed back at me with his mouth open slightly before jerking his head away and running in after her.

"Terren!" I gasped in a hushed voice, twisting out of his grasp and standing in front of him, forcing him to come to halt in his quick stride. "You could have given us away! Do you want the entire school to know?" He just gazed at me with his cobalt eyes narrowed, before sidestepping with a snort and walking past me.

"I don't care." He hissed as he strode away from me, ignoring my protests for him to come back. "Go to your detention, you can see my damn crow later!" And he vanished down the corridor that lead to the Slytherin common room, leaving me alone in the empty hall.

Slowly turning from where he'd left me, I watched my feet as I sauntered away with a very slow pace, my mind reeling. Was there no pleasing that boy? Everything I seemed to do or say made him angry in some manner, if he was so discontented by my presence then why did he even bother with me? But before I could ponder my inner inquiry, I stopped as two feet came into my vision and I looked up into a pair of perplexity filled, green eyes.

Potter stood before me, looking out of breath as he panted through parted lips, a book clutched to his chest and his glasses slanted on his nose. "You left this in the library." He stated and extended the book to me, which I looked at like it was disease ridden. "Don't worry, I didn't do anything to it." I lifted a cautious hand and took it from him, my eyes never leaving his as I removed my bag and put it inside it. "Who was that? I haven't seen him around the school before this year."

My eyebrows forked down and I drew in a sharp breath, quickly pacing past him. "It's none of your business, Potter." I hissed, snorting as I heard his footsteps follow me, before I just stopped and he bumped into my back, before he quickly jumped away. I wheeled about on him, lashing out and grabbing the front of his robes, and pulled him nose to nose with me, my eyes sparking with anger and teeth bared.

"What, Potter, what do you want!" I spat, still so very close to him; I ignored the urge to close that space and touch my lips to the startled boy's, trying to keep hold of my hostility. "Why do you keep looking at me in class! Why the hell were you so concerned about me this morning!" I shoved him so hard that he lost his balance and fell onto his arse, staring up at me with wide, surprised emerald depths. "Do you find this funny, Potter? Is this a game now?"

"No, Malfoy, I just wanted to know why you're acting so strange." Said Potter in an extremely soft voice, lowering his vision to his hands that were folded in his lap. I gave a disgruntled noise and his eyes snapped back up to me through a curtain of auburn bangs, watching me cross my arms and chew the inside of my cheek.

"Are you a masochist, Potter?" I asked him with a cynical laugh, my voice breaking in my despair, and I twisted my back to him, closing my eyes as stinging filled them. "Did I break your goddamn habit? Are you so used to me going out of my to insult you that you have to provoke me now?" I bit down on my cheek, trying to keep the sob in my throat from escaping, and tasted copper on my tongue. "You want to know why?"

I pivoted slowly to him again, watching him climb to his fett, dusting himself off, and a thousand thoughts raced through my mind; I wanted to tell him that I was sorry for ever making fun of him, that I knew what it was like to have a hard life, that I didn't want him to hate me… that I loved him. But, I couldn't, I wouldn't dare; my pride was worth so much to me and he would just shoot me down, laugh at me, he could never feel the same way. And as I glared at him through blurring eyes, I observed the insouciance on his face with disdain and I bit my lip to keep my chin from trembling.

"You're not worth my time." My voice was unsteady, cracked, but he seemingly believed my lie because he snorted in annoyance, hissing an insult at me before swiveling on his hell and storming off. I was ready to collapse against the wall next to me the moment he disappeared but he stopped in mid-step, turning to me again like he'd remembered something important. "What-"

"Do you love him?" He cut in, his words so confident and I didn't know how to react, as it seemed that my reputation had crumbled right before my eyes and I was abruptly venerable to everything he would dish out. He could easily destroy me right then by telling absolutely everyone that I was in a relationship with another male, but by the way he stared at me, he needed conformation. "That boy, do you love him?"

I felt my foot slide back as I was overflowed with the need to escape, to run, but I couldn't take my eyes off his. I knew my face must have given me away, my eyes wide and lips parted as I struggled for something to say, anything at all to take attention away from the subject, but my breath staggered and I couldn't think. "You-Why-He-" His eyes were so dispassionate, like he didn't care that he could make my world go up in flames, he most likely didn't. Taking a few steps back, I followed my instinct and tore off in the other direction; I didn't know if he called out for me to stop or if he just stood there knowingly, I could barely hear anything but a violent ringing as I ran so fast that my vision became distorted. Or maybe those were threatening tears.

When I reached the dungeons where I was to be that night, I raced down the flight of stairs unseeingly and missed a step, causing my foot to land unevenly and I plummeted down the last few steps to the floor. My shoulder cracked violently when it hit the stone and I gasped as a wave of agony washed over me, instantaneously rolling onto my other side and grabbing it, curling up. I struggled not to cry, not only from the pain, but also from my hurricane of emotions. My father's words echoed in my head once again, banishing my weakness, or at least attempting to; _Boys don't cry_.

"Snape! Snape, get out here!" I heard a woman cry and looked up at the statuette of Margaret Slytherin, her stony face sleepy but surprised; she must have woken up when I fell. "I said get out here!" she shrieked and the door to the Potions classroom burst open, where an annoyed Snape stood, glaring at her.

"What do you-" He took in a quick breath as he noticed me, hurrying over to where I lay quivering, and helped me sit up. Moving my arm out of the way, he quickly undid the front of my robe and pulled the side down that covered my throbbing shoulder, examining it with uncharacteristic worry on his features. "It's dislocated. You need to go to the hospital wing." He said, looping his arm around my waist and starting to pull me up into a standing position.

"No! I can't go there!" I nearly shouted in a panicked voice, wrenching out of his grasp and jumping back, almost tripping over the stand the statuette was on. "Madam Pomfrey thinks I'm crazy, she'll send me to St. Mungos if I go back there again!"

The man was silent for a while, so much so that I could hear the creaking of the statue's neck as she looked between us in apprehension, and he stared at me through black depths, as though deciding whether or not to say what he wanted to. "Draco," his tone was beaten and broken, causing me to give a little gasp in shock, and his expression was worried, even fatherly. Who the hell was this man and what had he done with my emotionless mentor? "Madam Pomfrey told me about your attack."

Damn that woman, I would slaughter her yet! Wasn't it against student-nurse confidentiality to give private information to teachers? How dare she just tell the professor that was irritated with me about my weakness, did she want me to die. But, he seemed to be over his anger for me. Perhaps, because he thought I was uneasy or even fragile, heaven forbid, he wasn't being cruel to me. Maybe he was afraid I would break.

"I am not weak." I muttered quietly, my head falling forward, and he didn't hear me, for he took a step forward and asked me to repeat myself. "I am not weak!" I screamed and his body jerked in shock, even the statuette gave a noise of astonishment as I sank to my knees, my limp arm flung out beside me. "I'm not a child, I can… I can take care of myself!" The tears that so desperately needed to be shed only ran rampant on the inside, but my face was flushed and my eyes were throbbing. "I can take care of myself." I repeated quietly as the greasy haired man knelt on my injured side, taking my unfeeling arm in his grasp.

I barely had enough time to prepare before he pulled back my arm and jammed it back into socket, forcing me to scream as another nauseating wave of pain took my body again. I felt the feeling starting to return in my fingers and flexed them, trying to identify just how much I would be able to use the hand. Lightning bolts of stinging raced up my and I hissed; too bad it was my right hand, my handwriting would suffer greatly.

Looking to my favorite teacher, at his greasy hair shadowed face; I saw masked precaution on his there, as if he was afraid I would attack him if he touched me. I threw myself at him so unexpectedly that he huffed as the air left his lungs and wrapped my arms around him to grip his shoulders in a quavering grasp, ignoring the pain in my shoulder and concealing my face his collar. He didn't know how to react, I doubted that any of his students had ever just latched onto him, but I was so deprived of truly kind contact that I didn't care if he just sat there and didn't hold me back, as long as I could hang onto him for just that moment.

"Maybe," he said in a hesitant voice and I felt his hand fall on my back, which made me sigh and every tense muscle in my back relaxed at his touch. "Maybe you need to go home, staying here might be upsetting you." And the stress came back as swiftly as it went when he said that, my body going rigid and my eyes, which had been clenched shut, bursting open in shock. He kept hold of me as I drew back, my eyes vast and watery, staring at him like he was absolutely out of his mind.

"I can't go home." I said softly, my voice jerky and fully shattered, and he regarded me with question; perhaps he thought that I would jump at the chance to leave and/or he didn't know how abusive my father was. "I just can't. If my father found out what's been happening with me, he'd…" I couldn't finish and I let my head fall forward again, so I wouldn't have to look into his perplexity filled eyes, wanting to just sink into the stone and disappear.

"What would he do?" I didn't answer and he sat there silently, most likely wondering what could possibly be so bad or why I couldn't say it. "Draco…" He said softly and I heard something in his voice that made me look up, curiosity over taking me, and I saw an expression on his face that looked so out of place. It resembled… sympathy. "He would beat you, wouldn't he?"

Why was he looking at me like that, like he knew how I felt? I knew nothing about his past, maybe he'd been abused as a child too and that was why he was so bitter, but if he kept giving me that stare like I was his younger self, I would cry, run, or hit him. Thankfully, our gazes broke when he pulled me to him and I couldn't help but freeze in surprise; his body was trembling but he wasn't sobbing.

To see Professor Snape cry would have broken me, so mercifully when he pulled back I couldn't help but be relieved that his face was still dry, not even hot and red like mine. We would both weep on the inside, and we would be the only two who knew it. This man was more then a teacher to me, more then my godfather, we shared childhoods and we were, I guess you could say… friends.


End file.
